Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I ignored them all, tearing a path straight toward Ember's desk.
I stopped in the doorway and found her lifting the last bite of her chocolate bar to her lips. She froze when she saw me, smiled, and then popped it into her mouth and licked her finger clean. "Hello, Mr. Foster," she said with feigned innocence.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I know," she said. "The sugar isn't good for my body, but it's good for my mental health. And at some point, you've got to consider the balance, right?"
"I don't mean about the goddamn chocolate. You've been staring at the camera like—"
"Oh, that thing?" Ember asked, leaning back in her chair and batting her eyelashes. "Were you watching me? Out of all the cameras in here and with all the important things you must have going on in your day?"
"I wasn't just watching you. No."
"Oh, good," Ember said. "Because that would give me the wrong idea. I'd wonder if you only hired me because you had some sort of inappropriate attraction to me. Like you wanted the power fantasy of having me under your thumb. You know, the whole perverted boss calling his secretary into his office after hours and..." she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"You're not my secretary," I snapped. The damn woman had me reeling. I could hardly form a complete thought, let alone remember why I thought coming here in person was a good idea. "And I'm not—"
"Oh," she said, lifting a greasy bag toward me and giving it a little shake. "Did you want some fries?”
"I don't—no."
"Okay," Ember shrugged. "Was there something else you wanted? Or should I get back to work? I was working really hard before you interrupted me, by the way. You'd know that if you had been watching me on the cameras closely."
I had watched her do nothing but slowly and defiantly eat her lunch, and the woman knew it. She was teasing me. She wanted me to admit I had been watching her closely enough, and if I called her lie about working, she’d have her proof.
"Wow," Ember said, biting back a smile.
"What?" I grated.
"I just thought steam coming out of people's ears was a cartoon thing. Today I learned it's real. That, or you're actually a robot and something is about to blow up inside you..."
"Get back to work," I said.
"I was planning on it before my boss came in and began distracting me. This office space is great, by the way. I love the privacy. Makes me feel so... special."
I paused mid-step with my back to Ember. Just walk away, Orion. Every word you say is only fuel to this infuriating woman.
"Was there something else?" she asked sweetly.
"No," I said, then slammed her door behind me as I left.
I heard her laugh echo through the door as I walked away, and I realized with growing horror that the sound made something in my chest flutter.
This woman was going to be the death of me.
14
EMBER
Over the past few weeks, I learned a few important things about my new job at Foster Real Estate:
First, my new desk, which was no longer in the janitor’s closet after I told Orion how I liked the privacy, had an excellent view of Orion's office. This was both a blessing and a curse, since watching him pace, run his hands through his hair, and generally brood was oddly mesmerizing. I'd catch myself staring when I should have been working, which probably explained why Moira kept shooting me those knowing smirks.
Second, I was actually good at this job. Really good. The kind of good that made Moira stop giving me that "who did you sleep with to get here" look and start giving me the "maybe you're not completely useless" look instead. Baby steps.
Third, Orion was absolutely over the “game” of bribing all the hate note employees Patricia sent his way after letting me go. In fact, he was offering such staggering sums of money that she had apparently put a temporary halt on sending anyone to read him messages, and the backlog was getting her a growing number of bad reviews. I was sure Orion loved all of this, but if he did, he gave no outward indication.
Last of all, I had learned that my plans of avoiding Orion Foster while working here were fruitless. I would have had a better shot at avoiding gravity or the IRS. The man was everywhere, always showing up at the worst possible moments—like now, when I was trying to eat a contraband sandwich at my desk.
I managed to shove half a turkey club into my drawer as his shadow fell across my desk. Without looking up, I knew exactly what expression he'd be wearing: that irritated-but-trying-to-hide-it look that made his jaw tick and his nostrils flare.
"Miss Hartwell," he said, voice clipped. "A word?"